


Strike the Bell and Bide the Danger

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Muggle London, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15540135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: Edmund deals with being in England again by going through flea markets and pawnshops to find magical items that may or may not be useful in opening another way into Narnia. There, he meets Tom, who is doing the same thing for unknown reasons.





	Strike the Bell and Bide the Danger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



> Dear Nabielka! I saw the crossover pairing, and just had to write you something for it. This ignores "The Last Battle", and I hope you enjoy the ambiguity of Tom Riddle's potential villainhood! Thank you, ibble, for your wonderful encouragement--without you, I would probably not have finished this.

Edmund hesitates in front of the dingy looking pawnshop before he collects his bravado and takes the step inside. He’s well aware that he may be the least adjusted of his siblings about loosing their place in Narnia, and yet he can't help but go look for ways to return. They are all adjusting to their life in England in different ways.

Peter is already planning out his future diplomatic career and which universities and colleges he should attend for the quickest ascendance to prime minister--or a lesser government position. It's a way for him to regain what he has lost, and he is thriving under the pressure he applies to himself. He doesn't think back in nostalgia at the sword and shield and armoury he had to leave behind. He doesn't chafe at insults that can only be dealt with in clever words and that most of his problems can't be solve with the whack of a sword, even if that were the most appropriate solution. He doesn't need to fence for his life or lead his armies personally, and unlike Edmund, he doesn't seem to mind.

Susan has taken the opportunity to do all the things she couldn't do in Narnia, and seems to be having the time of her life not constantly worrying about diplomacy and carefully considered social engagements. She's evolving in a way that brightens the very best of her, and certainly she doesn't miss the constraints of the Queenship. She doesn't miss the way her days were planned out, and that she could always find something to work on that affected real problems and real people. Edmund misses the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 And Lucy loves being the centre of attention, and if her peers don't believe her stories, well, she's very used to that and doesn't let it bother her. Edmund, however, spends his free time looking through lost property and old kitsch. It doesn't seem productive.

Perhaps Edmund is unfair, and his siblings are also struggling with their reintegration into society-- though Edmund's way of coping with changes has suddenly become unacceptable. He can't drop into Peter's lectures on law suddenly, without having to bear the brunt of discomfort and strange looks. Peter had never cared about that in Narnia, but now, he was bending his head towards society's stupid rules once more. And Edmund couldn't even complain about it: He had given up carrying his sword everywhere, too. 

The bell of the dingy pawnshop rings, but there's no reaction from the backrooms. The air smells musty and stale and it feels as if the world has paused around the small little shop. Edmund glances outside, but the cars and people keep moving. It doesn't hurt to check if his paranoia might be true. 

His method of coping isn't doing him any good. It was always Lucy who found the entrances. He steps further inside the antique shop. It's a very narrow building, and the layout isn't helped by the fact that the shop is stuffed to the gills--Edmund can see the burn marks on not few of the pieces. Like every other pawnshop in London, it's filled with relics from the war.

One thing he has kept from his time in Narnia, is his sense of magic. Sometimes, the urge to check for threats is overwhelming, but the comfortable feel of magical items has remained even in England, even if it surprised Edmund at first how much magic there was still in England. The first time he was at Kings Cross's again, he had to check to see if he was hallucinating--he hadn't been. There really was a platform hidden from the rest of the populace, though at that time it had been empty.

In the pawnshop-- it looks like a veritable treasure trove of stuff, both useful and useless-- Edmund goes for the cupboards first. It's instinct, and he can't help it. The chances that he's going to find another entrance are astronomically low, but so were the chances of getting to Narnia in the first place. The first closet he opens contains an orderly row of silver halide bottles, and while that is very intriguing and would make a great present for Susan, there's no chance it would also contain an entrance to Narnia. He wonders what Reepicheep would do with silver halides, and then quickly has to repress the emotion that wells up. 

He ambles through the rest of the merchandise, trying to feel out the magic. He's not sure he is sucessful, until he notices the blib from a darker corner. On the table in the corner, he can feel a spot of magic-- it's too small to be a proper portal. Intrigued, he steps closer.

It's a collection of bone carvings-- whale bones from the looks of it. He touches the coffer, and then has to contain his reaction. This feels like a unicorn horn, and he's never thought there'd be unicorns outside of Narnia. There'd been gifts for the monarchs, of course, but even in Narnia, unicorn horns were one of the rarest artefacts. The White Witch's wand had been made from one, and the curse upon the unwillingly sacrificed unicorn had to be carefully deconstructed with Aslan's help.

This unicorn horn feels more gentle, and Edmund just has to touch it. Reverently, he takes it out of the haphazard pile. Nobody is paying attention, and there's no shop assistant to yell at him for touching the merchandise. From the outside, the shop looks much smaller--Edmund must have gone through most of the store by now, and yet he sees neither a cashier or a proprietor.

He picks the unicorn horn up anyway, and wanders through the rest of the labyrinthine shelves. Finally, he finds the proprietor, a lady of advanced age, in a rocking chair, almost entirely across from the entrance. She doesn't seem too careful about potential thieves or robbers, in any case, and Edmund wonders if she might have magic herself. She doesn't look it, sitting in her chair knitting socks to large for the average human, but appearances could very well be deceiving. "Found what you were looking for, dearie?" she says, not once looking up from her knit-work.

Edmund tells her that he has and hands over the unicorn horn.

She smiles at him very knowingly, and marks down a receipt for 2 pounds, which he pays without grumbling. She gives him both the horn and a pat on his hair. "Come back anytime, this shop and I will be waiting for you."

Edmund doesn't linger to ask for explanation, glad to have acquired a treasure for such a comparatively little amount of money. He's sure the proprietress knows what kind of treasure she was letting go. It might have been hidden beneath other, less valuable items, but she handled it with the respect an item like that deserves. He thanks her, and returns to his dorm rooms, promising himself that he is going to stop searching through piles of junk for magical items any day now.

The promise feels far-fetched even as he is making it. Patting the unicorn horn in his pocket softens the urge somewhat.

♦︎

Edmund returns to the shop, of course. There's that itch to search out the magic he had gotten used to in Narnia. He can't seem to help it, searching out ways to return to a land where he  _fit_ , where he managed to do something with himself that wasn't built upon rebelling to Peter. He doesn't think he can manage to fake being interested in classes when he has to deny the experience he has on the subjects discussed, often more than his teachers, and there's always that something just missing from his experiences.

He finds other magical trinkets, and therefore returns more often, and each and every time the proprietress doesn't appear until he is ready to leave. He'd suspect foul-play, but she's very reasonable about setting prices he can afford, and she never once makes him an offer he can't pay.

It's a Thursday when Edmund notices the boy on Charing Cross. He's looking through the discoloured windows, and still the slick layer of magic hiding his clothing behind an illusion grabs his attention in a way nothing else can.  His eyes slide over the cloak hiding beneath in the disconcerting manner of a charm obscuring him from the inattentive observer. He's familiar with the technique--has seen his fair bit of magic in London proper by now--but it is still disconcerting.

 Edmund would have passed the figure over, too, if he hadn't been paying attention to the magic surrounding him to keep his eyes open for other trinkets, and the cloak radiates magic like a fountain. Slightly fogged over, but he knew it was there without a shred of doubt. 

The boy wearing the obscured cloak—not much younger than Edmund, currently, so about 16, maybe 17—is clearly trying to hide in plain sight. His efforts are wasted on Edmund who has always been rather sensitive to magic hiding a true purpose. Much to Edmund’s disappointment the boy is otherwise entirely mundane. (He was hoping for wings, or maybe horns.) His dark hair curls around round ears, and while his eyes look to be very piercing, they don't seem to be made out of starlight. But there is something about his confidence, something about the way he holds himself that is immediately recognisable. As if he knows a secret that nobody else knows. Edmund hasn't known there were wizards in London, or he'd have brought his sword along, no matter the looks he would be getting from his fellow commuters.

He should have worn a cloak, too, out in the open and not hidden behind weird charms. The cloak felt more comfortable than his school uniform at one point, since there were no suits in Narnia. Idly, he touches the cord Lucy made for him to replace the one keeping his sword hilt on his belt. 

The wizard, still wrapped in a field of obscuration, continues wandering across Charing Cross in a purposefully amble. Edmund turns back to his shopping, the cupboards full of delicate trinkets and sturdy chairs. Hidden behind the more mundane exterior, there are other wares for the more discerning customer. He checks the paintings again, but none hold even a drop of magic.

The door behind him opens. The bell twinkles, and yet again, there's no reaction from the proprietress who is most certainly hiding somewhere inside.

From closer up, the wizard is even more handsome. Alabaster skin, his mouth curved with a cupid's bow, an aquiline nose--but Edmund notices the long wand he is carrying in a sheath at his side all the same. It takes him back to simpler times-- or more complicated times, depending on your interpretation.

"Good day," he says, because he's been raised polite, and the discerning company of Narnian nobility hasn't exactly cured him of his manners. The chair behind him reminds him of Peter's throne in a very odd way, and he wonders if buying it will disabuse his siblings of the notion that he is very comfortable in England. He turns back to scanning the cupboards. By now he has branched out into jewellery sometimes, because those he can gift to Susan without her complaining about him spending too much time among dusty relics.

The wizard clears his throat, and Edmund looks back to him again. Now directly in front of him, Edmund can see the silver snakes adorning the green brocade lining of his coat-- thank goodness there are no snowflakes to be seen. Edmund likes snakes, they're straightforward. Unlike hedgehogs, the true sneaks.

The wizard holds out his hand. In a spectacular show of courtly manners, Edmund notices that he still hasn't introduced himself. He takes the hand, but doesn't introduce himself either. His hands are slightly cooler than Edmunds, and the handshake is carefully controlled.

"I was looking for certain... older artefacts," the wizard says. It seems as if he wanted to insert the word magical but wasn't sure of Edmund's understanding. Although Edmund understands him perfectly well, he's still peaked about the lack of greeting, or any show of manners whatsoever. They are strangers, and yet this wizard is talking to him as if Edmund should jump up to help him in his quest.

"This shop has a good selection of almost everything," Edmund says, and turns back towards his cupboard in a final gesture. 

The wizard doesn't hide his grimace of distaste very well. Edmund can see it in the corner of his eye, even though he isn't trying to look.  "I'm afraid I'm looking for something more extraordinary..." the wizard tries, but Edmund isn't biting.

Edmund doesn't like the coldness in his eyes, and dearly wants to lay a hand on the sword he isn't carrying. He didn't think his wariness about wizards had carried over. "If you're looking for magical trinkets, you have to look for them yourself," he said more bluntly. "But you'd go farther in your quest if you'd speak plainly instead of having me guess your intentions."

The wizard shifted. "There is, of course, the Statute of Secrecy to consider. I believe you don't have a license to sell unregistered magical artefacts in muggle London."

Edmund can't help but stare. Then, he laughs, much to the chagrin of the poor chap who decided to blackmail Edmund Pevensie about laws that don't apply to him. "This isn't my shop," he says, finally. "And I'm not a wizard, so therefore their laws don't apply to me."

It's the end of the conversation. The wizard stops talking to him, and searches the store for the owner, instead. Edmund leaves without buying anything, and doesn't come back to the store.

♦︎

A week later exactly, Edmund is walking by Charing Cross on his way back to his rooms. He is carrying his sword in his bag, just to feel safer, but when he's accosted by a tall lanky fellow, he doesn't draw it immediately. It's the same wizard, of course, because that's just his luck.

"What the hell?" Edmund says. 

"You own a unicorn horn," the wizard says, nay, demands. He looms menacingly forward. "How much do you want for it?"

Edmund laughs into his face, "I don't take money from wizards." He's tried grilling Peter for any indication that there's more than one of them in London, and wile he's certain Peter knows something, he's not sharing. Probably because he fears what Edmund will do to get someone to create a portal for him if he knows. Well. Peter is not very wrong about that, because that's exactly what he's been contemplating.

The wizard stumbles back, as if he has never had to deal with rejection. He is very handsome, and has that air of a public school education--Edmund would know, since he has the same himself. Then, getting over his surprise he sets a hand on his wand, and Edmund draws the hilt of his sword up a little bit, so that the boy can see the iron reflecting the light.

He knows how to defend himself against witches and wizards, now. He's not a fresh-faced boy, easily seduced by talks of sweets and treasures. 

"Who are you?" the wizard asks.

"I could ask you the same question," Edmund replies. "You talk to me like I'm your servant, and demand objects from me out of the blue without even the barest of introductions, and I really think I am justified in my outrage! I'm not selling my unicorn horn, I've just bought it myself, and I am not regretting the purchase at all."

The wizard lets go of the wand, forcibly relaxes himself, and then says, "I'm Tom Marvolo Riddle. A pleasure meeting someone as steadfast as you."

"I'm actually known as the Just," Edmund says, and eyes the hand the wizard is holding out. But he takes the chance, he gives him another opportunity to present a better self. His grip is firm, and still cool. "Edmund Pevensie."

Tom Riddle smiles; and it changes his entire face-- he really is quite pleasant looking. "I must commend you for finding a unicorn horn before me. Would you like to join me for a drink to tell me how you discovered it? Tea, coffee, or a hot chocolate, perhaps? I didn't mean to accost you like this."

Edmund is tempted by the offer; very tempted, and the war rationing curtails his sweet tooth even now that he can easily resist an offer for hot chocolate. He isn't seriously considering the offer. "Thank you, but no," he says. 

"Too bad," he replies, and it's not even half as sleazy as Edmund expected. He doesn't leave, however, and instead crosses some of the distance into a more conspiring closeness. "The Just?" he asks. "Where did you get a title like that?"

Edmund wants, dearly, to answer, "None of your business," but he's pretty sure the wizard would take that as encouragement, and so far he hasn't stepped on any of Edmund's more explosive landmines. And it might help him in his search if he has a real wizard at his side--Peter might not tell him about the wizarding populace of London, but this boy might. "I was fifteen," he answers a different question, and hopes the wizard doesn't notice the deflection. "It doesn't feel accurate anymore."

The wizard doesn't push, and instead says, "To be very honest, I am in desperate need of a unicorn horn, and running across you seemed like a nudge of fate, but I understand if you need it yourself." He is very straightforward about doing this for a purpose, and it takes most of the winds out of Edmund's sails who dislikes liars the most. It would be another thing if he hides his reasons, but this makes sense, and Edmund can understand it, would probably do the same if he knew that the other boy had a portal to Narnia he wasn't using.

"I need it," he says. "I'm sorry."

Tom looks crushed. Then, he collects himself and asks, "What for? If you need it for just a quick ritual, maybe I could have it afterwards? I need an entirely pure container for a project I'm doing at school."

"An entirely pure container?" Edmund asks, instead of the perfectly legitimate question of what kind of school would lead to projects with magical objects. And Edmund thought Eton was weird.

"The unicorn horn-- I hear it was willingly given? It makes it more magically powerful."

"How else would anyone get a unicorn horn?" Edmund asks. He didn't know how anyone could get a unicorn horn without getting cursed, and that surely put a dampener on things. Or else magic in England is much different from the one in Narnia, which is also a possibility that wasn't to be discounted.

"How indeed," Tom Riddle says. His laugh is wicked, and Edmund is very intrigued. He does know the danger of trusting strangers, has learned hard earned lessons on why witches were better left alone, and yet. There is something quite captivating about Tom Riddle.

"I'm looking for something specific, actually," Edmund admits finally. "There was a... magical artefact in our family, a portal to... other family holdings, and recently it's lost all its power. It doesn't seem like an easy fix, and I know that there are other portals in existence--we used a painting once, but the painting got lost in the war."

Tom makes an encouraging noise. He looks deeply contemplative. 

"I'm trying to find a way back," Edmund says, frustrated. He doesn't know how his siblings could have just given up like that, and if this strange wizard could help him achieve it, then Edmund would gladly trade him the unicorn horn. He isn't going to trust him with a deal like that so quickly, however. There is no need to be so foolish quite yet.

"Well, can't say I ever had to deal with a problem this complicated," Tom Riddle answers finally. "Are you sure you don't want to meet for a coffee? I'd like to hear how your family heirloom worked exactly."

Edmund sees no reason to reject him a second time, as he genuinely seems interested in Edmund's problem. And if most of his enthusiasm comes from seeing a way to keep him interested in perhaps trading the unicorn horn--Edmund doesn't need it anyway, even though the feeling it radiates feels as close to Narnia as anything. He wouldn't need it if the wizard succeeded in creating another way.

♦︎

"Admittedly," Tom Riddle tells him after Edmund explains how the wardrobe had worked, "I have never heard of such an interesting magical working before. This is much more difficult than I imagined." He takes another sip out of his porcelain cup, maintaining eye contact.

Edmund is the one who breaks it--in his heart he knew returning to Narnia was a fool's errant, but hearing it so plainly after he regained some sense of hope was discouraging. "So you can't do it."

"I didn't quite say that," Tom Riddle protests. "Let me make some inquiries-- I don't suppose you could allow me access to the original wardrobe?"

Edmund doesn't think he can return to the original wardrobe in the countryside, without uncomfortable questions being asked by people who he would rather not tell that he's been researching ways to go back. He shakes his head.

Tom Riddle's sigh is audible and deeply felt. "That would have made it much less interesting, don't you think?" he says finally. There's a strange sheen across his eyes, and Edmund feels like he's made a mistake in cultivating his interest. He's not scared exactly, but he's reminded of the more magical creatures of Narnia.

Edmund doesn't know if he should put a stop to it, if he wants to put a stop at it--instead, he looks at his watch, and pretends to be shocked by the time.

"I'll let you know if I find something," Tom Riddle says. There's a pause before he adds, "Please don't sell the unicorn horn to someone else." It doesn't sound threatening, and Edmund wonders if it was. The wizard waves his goodbye, then he seemingly steps into thin air and disappears.

Edmund snorts. That looked like showing off to him.

♦︎

The owl with the letter appears three days later. In lovely cursive, the name on the envelope reads Edmund the Just. It's the least strange attribute of the letter. The script is a shimmering green, the ink flaked with a gold-like substance, written on strong parchment the like he hasn't seen since his time in Narnia. The magical world of London doesn't seem to have had any problems with war rationing.

In it, there's an invitation to meet again, together with a dried flower. He stares at it, then stares at the owl who hasn't left the room once he had freed the letter from its talons. Edmund, as one of the Kings of Narnia, knows how to deal with strange circumstances. He doesn't know how to deal with this. Is he being wooed by yet another wizard? It's very flattering. He's not going to let it work All this for a unicorn horn? Surely they couldn't have this much worth.

The owl is still looking at him, and so he sighs, and sits down to write an affirmative reply. Perhaps, Susan would have some advice--on the other hand, he really doesn't want her to know about this.

He goes out and has tea with him again. Somehow, it leads to him asking, "Are you trying to court me, or my magical trinkets?"

Tom Riddle startles, clearly not expecting a question like that. He grins, somehow still charming, and asks, "Which one would you mind less?"

It's eyebrow-raising, how much Edmund doesn't mind this strategic maneuvring. He does think Tom Riddle doesn't know half about him and is wildly misinterpreting the other half--but he doesn't mind it at all. It's the most alive he's felt in awhile.

"Depends," Edmund leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. Unlike the wizard sitting across from him, he has retained some of his muscle mass from heaving an iron sword around all the time. "Are you willing to follow through on either?"

Tom sits up, juts his chin out and says, "Of course. Or I wouldn't have offered at all."

Edmund has to swallow. Nobody around them is listening to them right now, and he looks around to check more to give himself a moment. He can't believe that the other made this kind of offert he in public, where anyone can hear. He's sure his face is entirely red, courtesy of his embarrassment. "Here?" he says. His voice is unnaturally high.

"Maybe not quite this public," Tom Riddle demurs. He fiddles with the spoon on his cup of tea, and Edmund can't help but stare at his long fingers. He's flushed and feels too warm. "But there's an alley out back."

Edmund stares harder, but then he thinks about what he's doing. He can't justify that kind of reckless abandon to himself--he is a King of Narnia and that doesn't change because he's in England and sees a pretty face. 

Tom Riddle smiles, as if he already expected the disappointment. "Another time?" he asks.

Edmund hesitates. Too long, apparently, because Tom Riddle says, "I understand, you have to think of the heirs."

"What heirs?" Edmund wrinkles his brows. "I have siblings for that. No. I would like an agreement that goes further than a mere business agreement, where you look for a way into Narnia, and I keep ahold of the unicorn horn. I would like to give it to you as a gift..."

"But," Tom continues.

"I would like a promise in return," Edmund says carefully. 

Tom Riddle sits up. "I can't promise to find a way to restore that portal. It seems like a very old magic."

"The oldest; from before the dawn of time," Edmund remembers, and then refocuses on the matter at hand. "No, I wouldn't want a promise like that. It's just--I think I remember that unicorn, and I would hope that for whatever magics you need the unicorn horn, you would leave it whole and uncorrupted."

Tom Riddle smiles again, and Edmund thought that it was a very weapon-like smile--one used to parry and hurt its opponents. "A promise sealed with a kiss?" he asks.

Edmund's eyes fall down to his lips--suddenly they seem very red and plush. But he doesn't loose the awareness of his surroundings--this is a battle, and he's certainly not going to surrender without a fight. "Sure," he says. "Do you want to get it right now?"

His eyes grow larger. "The horn?"

"And the kiss," Edmund agrees.

It's not such a long walk to Edmund's rooms, but it has never felt longer. The anticipation was palpable. Walking side by side, their hands purposefully not touching, but accidentally brushing together due to the rush of the hour. The only thing he was thinking about where Tom's lips, and maybe his hands holding onto him tightly. 

Much of the way to his rooms remains blurred, Edmund concentrating on not slipping up and finding the way home where he could indulge in his recent obsession. Once there, he has forgotten where he stashed the horn, and has to rummage most of his few possessions before he can solemnly hand over the unicorn horn.

"Thank you," Tom Riddle says. He's fascinated by the unicorn horn, clearly, and Edmund watches indulgently as he strokes over the ridges where the magic is strongest. "You know, this is fairly suggestive." Tom Riddle has mastered the lascivious upwards glance,  and it is devastating.

Edmund has to laugh himself. "The magic feels much too-- personal," he demurs, because while he does have some knowledge on how to gain pleasure that way, he's not certain he wants them now. "I'd much rather have my kiss, first."

"Of course, of course," Tom Riddle says, and moves forward.

It's the seal of a promise. Edmund, always a King of Narnia, can feel the hook of it behind his breastbone and he gasps. Tom Riddle doesn't seem to have similar experiences, or else, expected the binding magic since he was more used to it. It was warm, and felt weighty-- a kiss to change the course of the future, maybe. 

Edmund closes his eyes, and goes in for another kiss.


End file.
